Coincidental Complications
by Redesign Chehn
Summary: Delinquents paired with nerds by virtue of being twins. But now the tiny town of Forks, Washington suddenly houses three such pairs of twins by accident. How do the nation's most infamous boys deal with each other?  This sounded better in my head.  HIATUS
1. Prologue: The Delinquent

**A/N: Not too sure what I'm doing. Disclaimer: Original idea behind characters comes from Stephanie Meyer's _Twilight._**

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><p><strong>-:Prologue:-<strong>

"Mr. Edward Masen." The pale-blonde lawyer spread his fingers on the desk, as if bracing himself. "Do you realize what is happening to you?"

The delinquent smirked. "Of course, Mr. Newton," he intoned with irritating politeness. He lounged on the hard wooden chair in front of the lawyer's desk, making it seem as though he was comfortably seated on a plush chaise. His extended legs seemed to fan out from the chair, taking up miles of space. He imitated one of the lawyer's frequent gestures and steepled his white hands. His mossy green eyes caught the late afternoon sunrays, glowing amber, and he drawled, "This is my last chance. If I can find any more trouble for myself in the small, isolated town of—what was it, Forks, Washington?—then I will certainly find my place in a juvenile hall." Edward Masen recited this speech perfectly from memory. He had grown up in Chicago and was moved to New York City at twelve years of age after numerous small thefts. In NYC, he was caught with pounds of drugs two years later. In three years, child services had relocated him in 6 different small cities around the nation in Ohio, Tennessee, and Nevada. In each town he had found some trouble: more shoplifting, selling more drugs, or the latest: gang fighting. Every time, his lawyer, Michael Newton, would make the same speech. By the third time, Edward had memorized it.

Mr. Newton's eyes hardened, and he narrowed them at Edward. "Keep that in mind this time. You are nearly eighteen years old, and after this we cannot guarantee to keep you out of jail or prison." After receiving a confirming nod from Edward, he sighed. "We will be allowing you and your poor sister Alice to stay together this time, until you finish high school. _If _ you finish high school," he muttered. Edward rolled his eyes. He might not have been in school very much, but he still had excellent marks. "A very kind, willing young couple, Esme and Carlisle, have opened their arms for you. If you misbehave—"

"—I will be sent to Juvie. Yeah, yeah," Edward said. "Can I go now?" he asked, pouting like a five-year old.

Edward left the office and took a seat next to a fragile girl with what appeared to be a buzz cut. Her hair had recently started growing back, after her lovely twin brother and another boy shaved her long, beautiful locks off, just because. There were two of them, and one small, tiny her. She hadn't tried to stop them. "Hey Al," Edward said. A moment of silence. "Hi Ed," she grinned, deliberately showing all her teeth.

"So you'll be living with me this time." Edward sighed. "Sorry, Al."

"You aren't sorry."

Edward's eyes flashed, but he had no response. She was right.

"So we're gonna be in some small town in Washington. Pretty close to the Pacific. Lots of fog though. But you like water, Ali, you'll be okay."

"Don't call me Ali," she snapped. "I won't forgive you. I actually have friends here in Nevada."

Edward snorted. "Oh yeah, platinum-blonde Tanya Denali. I visited you once and she couldn't keep her hands off me." He smirked. "Pretty hot, I'll grant you that. But no, not my type. Not your type either. Don't you usually find nerds to hang out with?"

Alice ignored him. "You don't have a type. You've never shown any interest in girls. You're gay aren't you?" she spat.

"Woah, what with the venom, girl?" he slurred, chuckling. In truth, he was just waiting for the right girl. Not that he would ever admit it. It wasn't something expected from one such as Edward Anthony Masen, but it was all he remembered about his mother….before she died from over-dosing on some mixture of drugs. She said that the right girl would be able to control him. He took this as the excuse for him to run amok until the "right girl" came to him. He sometimes hoped she didn't exist, and he sometimes wanted her to just show up already.

It wasn't that he couldn't _get_ a girl. Females of all ages, everywhere, followed his tangled red-bronze-blonde head of hair. And his mossy green eyes. They loved his eyes. His eyes were green, amber, blue, hazel, speckled in the pattern of a robin's egg. They sparkled. They were deep, deep down to his soul. They revealed everything about him. Which is why he never allowed anyone to look in their depths for a prolonged amount of time. He feared his vulnerability. He hated not being able to stare people down, and many a fight resulted from others smirking at his apparent lack of confidence. Of course, Edward always won. He _had_ grown up in a tough part of Chicago.

Mr. Newton came out of his office carrying his professional black leather briefcase. He ran a hand through his hair. "Kids, get your bags. We're heading to Forks."

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><p><strong>AN: So...if you haven't visited my profile, I'm not aspiring to be a writer. I honestly have...zero idea of what I'm doing. Reviews appreciated.**


	2. This is Me, This is My Brother

**Disclaimer: Idea behind characters comes from Stephanie Meyer's _Twilight _and Ben Mikaelsen's _Touching Spirit Bear_.**

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><p><strong>-:Chapter One:-<strong>

_Mr. Newton came out of his office carrying his professional black leather briefcase. He ran a hand through his hair. "Kids, get your bags. We're heading to Forks."_

(Two months later)

"Emmett," she groaned.

"Bella," he drawled, stringing out the "ah" sound at the end of her name.

"Really? Again? Why? I _like_ Arizona. I _liked_ Florida. Why do you have to keep getting in trouble? Do you even think about what I want? I'm stuck with you because our parents paid to keep us together! And even if they hadn't had the money we would've been glued together like Siamese twins anyway! Have you ever heard of such ridiculousness…" Isabella said the last part more to herself.

"Bells, I'm so sorry," Emmett spoke.

"Don't call me Bells," she snapped, not knowing that a similar pair of twins a few states away had similar conversation two months prior. Isabella McCarthy loved her brother, there was no doubt about it, but this was too much. "I won't forgive you. I actually have friends here." She slumped against the plastic chairs in the police station. Isabella looked around at the grayness of it all, taking nothing in. Perhaps she would write about it in her autobiography one day, about how her twin brother was a self-absorbed delinquent, dragging her around the country, always ending up in gray police stations. She would write about how his actions had stolen her away from the sun and the wind of the desert and the humidity and moisture of the South, the wonderful humidity that had frizzed her hair and as a result, given her a quiet, welcome loneliness. _ Huh, more of a biography of Emmett_, she thought.

The sound of Emmett scoffing grounded her attention. "Your _friends_? That lying two-faced bastard Jordan Brown? And that fake girl Laura MacKenzie? Please, Isabella." Emmett had charges for beating up Jordan Brown. He'd smashed Jordan's head against a brick wall when Jordan had been "talkin' smack" about his little sister. Emmett hadn't quite understood why "talkin' smack" wasn't a good enough reason to beat someone up. It had earned him another night in the local jail. But it wasn't the first incident either, so Isabella wasn't surprised when it had happened.

"Look, whatever. Now we're being confined to some mushy, watery town in Washington. What's it called, Forks? What kind of a place is called Forks? Is there a Spoons? Knives, even? We could have been sent to Knives, Idaho or something! It would've suited you, Emmett McCarthy. Did you know there is practically no sunshine at all in Forks? How am I supposed to live? I'm as pale as a freaking vampire as it is! Nobody will accept us, not after they figure out who you are," she rambled.

"Pshaw, you can just be your nerdy self and hide behind your weird books. Nobody'll even notice you," Emmett teased, pulling at her mousy brown hair like a toddler.

Isabella scowled and thumped her hand against her burly brother's arm. "My books aren't weird! They're classics! Nobody understa—When did you get that?" she thundered, when she saw a thick black Celtic design crawling up Emmett's bicep.

Emmett scratched a hand through his own brown hair. "I, uh…I—"

"Isabella, Emmett, let's go," their agent called across to them from the police desk. "We want to make it in to Forks by tomorrow morning, there's a bus leaving in two minutes."

Isabella stood up and grabbed her tattered black duffel bag. Saddening how her whole seventeen years fit into one medium sized bag. Emmett grabbed his, then as a sort of afterthought, tentatively reached out and pried his sister's fingers from her bag handles and tugged the bag away from her. He took her compliance as his forgiveness. "C'mon Bells, off to hell we go!" he said, trying to sound cheerful. _That sort of rhymed,_ Isabella thought mildly.

Isabella stepped through the doors into a hot blast of Arizonian September sun. She reveled in the way the overly bright dollops of sunshine sat on her skin and pricked her faceted brown eyes until tears came. She felt the damp yet dry breeze flit its way across her skin, pulling at her tangled brown hair. She saw the stunted trees, pointy cactuses, cracked earth. She could taste the dust on her lips, the amazing red dirt she had grown to love in the past two years. It tasted like home, and that wasn't just because Emmett had dared her to eat it for their fifteenth birthday.

Isabella slung her long locks up into a knot with a hair elastic. She looked like a bird-of-paradise flower. This was accentuated by her delicately curved and poised body. Anyone and everyone else saw her beauty, but only she did not accept her natural beauty. Her self-esteem had taken low hits every time Emmett faced charges for punching people like Jordan Brown, and every time people like Laura MacKenzie had sneered at her.

On the bus, their agent laid the situation out for them. "Alright, we are situating you two with Charlie Swan. He's the Chief of Police, and an ex-marine. We served together and he's a good friend of mine. You're lucky he owed me a favor, or we wouldn't have anywhere to send you two. Maybe you'll learn some sense, Em," he said, cuffing Emmett over the head. Emmett ducked away, disgusted. "So we know that the school term started a few weeks ago, but you shouldn't be too far behind. I hope—" The agent was interrupted with the tinkling sound of his phone. "Hold on." He turned away.

"Yes, Burnham speaking." Static.

"Yes, we're on our way…What?" Furious static.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The Masens? Really?" More static.

"Well the McCarthys will be with Swan, so hopefully we won't have problems…They're with the Cullens?... _What do you mean no other school would take their records?..._Yeah…Okay see you there." Burnham snapped his phone shut and cursed. Isabella groaned and hid behind her hands.

Barely a second passed, and Burnham's phone rang again. "What, you got some other bad news?...You can't be serious, the _Hales_ too?...Oh, their aunt…"

"Cha-ching! Yes!" Emmett pumped his fist.

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><p><em>Well, what do we know about the Masens?<em> Isabella mused. _Or about the Hales?_ She cracked open a worn composition book. Flipping through the leaves, she found a clear page enfolded within character sketches and story plots.

She read her own writing, writing that had accumulated over the course of three years. It reminded her vaguely of those story notebooks at the library...what were they called, _Amelia's Notebooks_? She had taped in child-like drawings of what she imagined her characters to look like. They didn't always turn out how she wanted, though. Isabella was no artist. Here was a character description that fit John Lennon, there one that fit Queen Elizabeth I. Here was an Austen/Bronte-esque plot setting and there was one for a meeting at the dog park.

Isabella shook herself free from her reveries. It didn't do to dwell on childish dreams.

Growing up with Emmett had its strange points. It didn't matter where they were moved, there was always some other boy (or boys) around who knew them. In a few weeks those boys might be gone and be replaced by others. News traveled around fast, across the town, across the state, across the country. The "Delinquent Boys", as Isabella had labeled them, easily passed around gossip about the most infamous boys. Edward Masen held the number one spot. Emmett McCarthy was second, and Jasper Hale was third. Needless to say, many neighborhood boys had come groveling at their doorstep all throughout the year, leaving money or food, or even the occasional vial of blood or scrap of hair, as silent requests to join his non-existent gang. Isabella shuddered inside. Disgusting, she thought. At least they managed to get a bit of extra pocket money. She began making lists in her composition book.

**PROFILES**

_Edward Masen  
>- <em>From Chicago. Wealthy father.<br>___- Drug possession and street fighting.  
><em>_- Easily roused to fight.  
><em>_- Womanizer.  
><em>_- Twin sister Alice Masen._

Isabella wasn't sure how she managed to obtain that amount of information. She was sad she did not know anything about the sister…they might get along. Or they might not.

_Emmett McCarthy  
><em>_- From Georgia. Wealthy parents, father a pharmacist, mother a housewife from old money.  
><em>_- Street fighting and being thick-headed.  
><em>_- Lacks logic.  
><em>_- Stupidly moronic with a huge ego.  
><em>_- …somehow not a terrible person.  
><em>_- Twin sister Isabella McCarthy._

Isabella remembered being eleven years old and helping Emmett limp home after his third fight, injured but victorious. She remembered his bruised knuckles and bleeding nose, and vowing to stay with him until he grew out of his bad habits. At the time, she thought it would take a year or two. She hadn't been prepared for the long, six year haul. Their parents, of course, hadn't understood her desire to remain with her dear brother. They'd called child services, paying them to keep their two children together and out of Juvie.

Isabella heard a cynical laugh inside her own head. A second later, a lighter laugh sounded next to her. "Thick headed? Lacks logic? Really? When have I ever come off that way to you," Emmett chuckled. Isabella pouted in way she hoped was more mature than a toddler's. "If you had logic we wouldn't be here." "Somehow not a terrible person?" Emmett guffawed. The sound was so strange and troll-like that a smile tugged at Isabella's mouth and in a second they were both cackling hysterically. Burnham turned, huffing. "I'm glad someone finds these complications hilarious."

After the laughter had subsided a moment later, Isabella had no idea what had been so funny. But it felt so good, like she and Emmett were six years old again, watching their pudgy ten-year-old neighbor slip and belly-flop, barely missing the pool, then run towards his mother and the prospect of sweet treats after such an embarrassment. The boy hadn't been hurt at all, on account to his extremely premature beer gut. It might even have helped him slim down. The amount of chlorinated water he had spit out had been quite the spectacle.

Isabella looked back down at her cramped notebook.

_Jasper Hale_, she wrote in an inelegant, though not altogether ugly, scrawl.

_Jasper Hale  
><em>_- From New York. Wealthy aunt. Deceased parents.  
><em>_- Drug and weaponry (knives) possession.  
><em>_- Calm, collected, and dangerous.  
><em>_- Twin sister Rosalie Hale._

She felt like an FBI agent from the show _Criminal Minds._ Agents from the show calculated when and where serial killers struck, and why. They "profiled" people. She'd even written the word "PROFILES" in large letters at the center of her page.

_Well, this should be interesting, _she thought. She imagined pinning up pictures of the three delinquents on a large corkboard as suspects, trying to plan their next move. _Terrorizing the neighbor's dog? Perhaps sabotaging an old man's garden hose?_ she wondered. From what she'd heard, there was absolutely nothing to do in Forks. There was a total of one store that wasn't a convenience store or restaurant, and it was for outdoor gear. Isabella debated between sleeping the last…she didn't know how many…hours until they reached Forks, or attempting to strike a conversation with Burnham to learn more about Forks and the other "Delinquent Boys." _Eh,_ she shrugged in her imagination, _the conversation can wait. We're stuck here for a while anyway._ She fell back onto the hard seats of the bus and tried to sink into sleep.

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><p><strong>AN: Is it strange for children of affluent backgrounds to become violent? I don't know. We'll see.**

**Expect an update in two weeks? Perhaps? Not sure. School is starting up.**


	3. Day One

** Disclaimer: not originally my characters, nor originally my setting.**

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><p><strong>-:Chapter Two:-<strong>

_She fell back onto the hard seats of the bus and attempted to sink into sleep. _

(Three days later)

It was their first day in at Forks High and Emmett had already fit in. Typical. Even if there had been no Edward Masen and no Jasper Hale, there undoubtedly were "Delinquent Boys" in this city. Every town had them. And since Chief Charles Swan had come home in a sour mood yesterday, Isabella supposed her assumption was correct.

As far as Jasper Hale, he had already gained favor from Emmett. By lunch hour, they were already at the high-five fist-bump stage. That's how it was for most of the deltas—suck up to the betas. Isabella had observed it in most of the gangs.

But the alphas? Never question the alphas. As in, _never_. Besides, they were too "high-rollin'" for everyone else. Especially Edward Masen. He was _the_ alpha male in the pack of infamy.

Isabella sighed and took a seat at an empty table. Students had been avoiding her like the plague since she and Emmett had arrived that morning, after much persuasion on Isabella's part and the threat of having Chief Swan—Charlie, Isabella reminded herself—tase him repeatedly if he didn't attend his first day of school. Somehow, Emmett was even notorious in a town so quiet, suburbian, with virtually no traffic in and out. Emmett had of course taken the opportunity to stare everyone down while hugging his once inconspicuous sister to his side…which of course, made her rather conspicuous, the exact opposite of what she had hoped to be.

She pushed away her untouched food tray and pulled out a copy of _Farenheit 451_, her outside reading text for the semester. Charlie had taken the liberty to obtain copies of all required English texts this year for her after he found out she was willing to study. For Emmett, not so much. Isabella barely cracked open the spine before deciding she wanted to read _Northanger Abbey_ instead. She selected one of the numerous dog-eared pages and sank into yet another Austenian world.

As she read about Catherine's foolishness and blind trust of John, there was a light rustle of fabric, and Isabella suddenly found a slim girl with a pixie cut sitting by her side. "Isabella McCarthy," she said. Isabella started. "Um…hi?" The tiny girl laughed. It sounded like a bubbling creek. "Alice Masen. If it weren't for your brother Emmett McCarthy there, I don't think I would've known you."

"Yeah…" Their moment of silence was abruptly accentuated as the entire cafeteria seemed to pause and hold its breath.

Edward Masen had walked in.

He quickly scanned his eyes across the room, lighting them on Emmett and Jasper. He then glanced over to Alice, and his gaze subsquently travelled to meet Isabella's own orbs. One corner of his mouth twisted and he smirked. Isabella just narrowed her eyes. Of course, she knew what that smirk meant. If there was one thing she had learned after Emmett had gotten into fights over her, it was how to keep calm when confronted. But even she almost lost it when she saw _those eyes_...those mischievous green eyes. Edward suddenly broke eye contact. He sauntered across the room, looking at every one and every thing but Isabella, only to exit through the wide doors on the other side. A group of extremely conspicuous girls scurried after him, watching him from a distance as he strolled through the damp grass, his enormous ego rolling off his confident shoulders and permeating the space.

"What an egotistical jerk," Alice spat. She laughed after noticing Isabella's wide eyes. "He's my brother. I can say what I like about him and not get punched."

"Funny, Emmett doesn't do that. I'm the only one he laughs at. Then he punches me anyway."

"Who dares to punch my baby sister?" Emmett plopped down next to Isabella, shaking the table. Jasper gracefully slid into the seat next to Emmett with barely a sound, highlighting the contrast between huge bear and lithe serpent. Isabella noticed that he stared at Alice before quickly looking away. She _was_ Edward Masen's little sister. Alice didn't see his fleeting glance.

"You do, apparently." Jasper's voice was touched with the lightest Southern drawl. _Afternoon sunshine of Florida_, Isabella thought. _Wait. Isn't he from New York?_

Alice visibly straightened at the sound of his voice, though she smoothed it out by raising a thin eyebrow at Emmett, saying, "We were comparing the differences between Isabella's brother and my own lovely twin." She gestured out the large cafeteria window at the smudge of Edward Masen leaning against a brick wall, teasing the group of girls with his eyes. Isabella looked away, thoroughly disgusted.

"Boring. See ya in bio, Becky." Emmett stood up and began walking towards the door. Jasper stood a fraction of a second after Emmett left the table, his eyes glittering and lingering on Alice.

"Creep," Alice said after Jasper had slid away after Emmett. "You'd think he wanted to eat me or something."

"I don't know," Isabella teased. "He might want to do just that." "Get out," Alice retorted, smiling. "But Becky? My imaginary speech bubble spells 'w-t-f'."

"Not sure. Apparently, Becky is a very very boring name. He's called me Becky when I'm 'boring' since we were ten. You can't imagine the number of nicknames I have," Isabella explained.

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><p><em>English. Lovely. High school English is such a drag,<em> Isabella thought. Every book list she could find held nothing new, and every school-required book ever had been devoured…not just once, but at the very least thrice. As the class wrapped up a unit on _The Great Gatsby_, she found that Jay Gatsby was just a tragic little soul who couldn't save himself.

_Like me_.

When the bell rang, Alice bounced out of class, pulling on Isabella's sleeve. "A paper on whether Gatsby's a tragic victim or a silly man with a silly dream? What is this I don't even." She laughed her bubbly creek laugh. "I'll see you tomorrow, since we don't have any more classes. Remember to talk to Charlie!" With a light imitation of a wave, she bounded away. _Like a deer_, Isabella noted.

As she stepped towards the science building, Isabella wondered how to bring up the subject of—dare she think it—a _sleepover_ with Alice Masen to Charlie. Her first problem with the idea was that people like her didn't do these "sleepover" things. Isabella recalled girls at every school who had spent a night at a friend's house for entirely recreational purposes. The only time she had ever spent at a friend's house was when she and Emmett had been too afraid to go home and face their father's rage after Emmett had (completely accidentally, of course) ridden his bicycle into the neighbor's (new) Mustang convertible. When their parents found out that they hadn't come home that night, the resulting anger and punishment was far more severe than just owning up to the crime of scratching and denting the car. _Sleepovers_ and _fun_ couldn't ever be used in the same sentence again.

Secondly, she would be asking _Chief_ Swan if she could spend a night under the same roof as _Edward Masen._ In case Alice hadn't noticed, he was every police chief's worst nightmare.

The third problem? Why, Edward Masen himself. Enough said.

_It might not be so bad_, a traitorous little voice teased_. Remember those eyes?_

She was saved from falling into dire thoughts when she heard Emmett's sing-song call. "Becky! Oh, little Becky! Where are you going! AP Bio is this way!" Isabella hurried towards the right classroom.

When they walked through the door together, they found a general chaos. The teacher (Banner, Neil, her schedule stated) had not yet arrived, so the students were milling about, chatting loudly. When Banner, Neil finally walked in to the room a full thirty-seven seconds later, he nearly turned on his heel and stomped back out the door. "Edward Masen _and_ Emmett McCarthy? In the same classroom? In _my_ class? _Why?"_ those near him heard him mutter. "Okay class, settle down," he shouted over the din. "We will have to reshuffle the seats due to my OCD nature of having everyone in alphabetical order." _Wait, did he actually just say that?_ Isabella thought incredulously, raising an internal eyebrow. _OCD? Alphabetical order? Wait..._

"Alright, you all starting from Najera, Preethi scoot down two seats. You'll be at the next lab table. You are smart people, it's not too hard, quickly now. Emmett and Isabella, here." Mr. Banner pointed to the two new empty seats. "McCarthy, Isabella Marie next to Najera, Preethi, McCarthy, Emmett Dale next to...wait." There was a moment's pause as Mr. Banner's obsessive-compulsive mind fought his current greatest fear of seating McCarthy, Emmett Dale next to Masen, Edward Anthony. Emmett obviously wanted to move forward and take the seat next to Edward, but it wasn't Mr. Banner's approval he was waiting for, it was Edward Masen's. Edward, on the other hand, had fixed his eyes elsewhere. His intense green soul-windows had never left the brown, wavy curtain of Isabella's hair. She could feel him burning a hole through her insta-barrier with _those eyes_. She quickly took the seat next to Preethi.

"McCarthy, Emmett Dale, I'm going to seat you next to Najera, Preethi. McCarthy, Isabella Marie, next to Masen, Edward Anthony." A quick flick of Mr. Banner's eyebrows said _well, best I can do._ He walked to the board to start class. Isabella started taking the longest three steps of her life. The clockwork of her mind told her it would be okay, hadn't she dealt with Emmett her whole life? That didn't stop the flow of scenarios in which she saw herself being punched in the face or scared out of her mind or raped or anything and everything by Edward Masen. _It's okay, Emmett wasn't that bad...or at least he's never raped anyone...as far as I know..._

As she approached him, Edward's inner dialogue echoed Isabella's when they both simultaneously thought something along the lines of "shoot me now." For very different reasons.

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><p><strong>AN: Thoughts? Comments?**

**I chose _Northanger Abbey _because I've actually read it. I haven't read the default _Wuthering Heights._**

**Again, update in a week or two...or three**


	4. Ladybird

**Disclaimer: manipulation of _Twilight's _plot.**

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><p><strong>-:Chapter Three:-<strong>

_As she approached him, Edward's inner dialogue echoed Isabella's when they both simultaneously thought something along the lines of "shoot me now." For very different reasons._

(Earlier)

She wasn't beautiful to him. She looked pallid and permanently frightened, though determined. She wasn't rounded. She appeared to be prematurely aged.

But she was timelessly elegant.

Her skin was clear and smooth, her hair filled with luscious chestnut curls. Her body was slim and well cut, and her jeweled red lips…he couldn't go on.

When he saw her eyes across the cafeteria he knew they weren't a flat black, the way others' brown eyes appeared. He _knew_ they had many dimensions, deep and mysterious, like a shadowed pond. But then sometimes the sun would shine through the leaves of that huge tree and highlight amber, chocolate, copper.

_60% cacao, 25% coffee, 15% gold. Pure, 24-karat gold._ He just _knew._

He tore himself away, distracting himself with the now terrifying crudeness of the girls. Because _she_ wasn't a girl. _She_ wasn't even a woman.

_She _was a lady.

* * *

><p>He was itching for a fight.<p>

Normally, he wouldn't have spared Gym a second. But today, he wanted to fight. He wanted to feel his blood inside him, he wanted to feel the cliché adrenaline rush, he wanted to feel sweat beading on his skin, he wanted to feel _alive_.

Basketball was a team sport. That didn't mean that he hadn't found the "i" in team.* He looped the ball around arms, legs, and bodies and shot three-pointers, never missing a single shot. It became a dance. Nobody dared interrupt his flying, raging fire. When he was done, he chucked the ball aside and left the court, ignoring the shrill cry of the coach's whistle.

Thirty minutes later, he flicked aside the remains of a small home-made cigarette, rubbing them into the dirt behind the gym. A faithful addict hid evidence of his drugs, and he pulled out a compact bottle of freshener, spraying the solution both into his mouth and into the air around him. He headed towards his last class, biology.

He had every intention of going to biology, in order to scope out what kind of a person Emmett McCarthy was. The guy was huge, from what he had heard, muscles like steel, built like a bear. Ruthless fighter. Had a twin he saw as a kid sister. Emmett McCarthy lived up to every last assumption.

What he hadn't expected was that _she_ was the kid sister_._

It took him all his will and every muscle to restrain himself, something he had never done before, because he couldn't ever touch _her_. He wouldn't, _couldn't_, taint her perfection. But how dare she be related to him? The one girl...the one girl..._the one girl_ what_? _he asked himself. _Don't even go there._

But, the red ruby lips, brown amber eyes, white marble skin. A valuable prize...that he could not have...the only _only _one he could not have, he needed. _Shoot me now._

He watched as she stepped carefully towards him, as if he was a demon. _Hell_, he thought, _I am._

When she finally sat down, he tried to turn away from her. Her warm presence overwhelmed him. There was a burning desire in him to leave, but the desire to stay was just as strong. He leaned towards her.

"Isabella McCarthy."

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><p><strong>AN: Well, that's all for this time folks. I kind of lost my hype for this story, so it will be going on hiatus. Keep in touch though, I'm hoping to upload my one-shot about Carlisle and his relationship with Edward soon.**

***This is actually really cool: google image "the i in team". Your mind will be blown. I hope.**


	5. Color Pains

**A/N: Hi there. It's been three months. I have an urge to laugh hysterically.**

**I don't own these characters. Many thanks to the author Ayn Rand for her character Howard Roark. And ****Audi will forever be the supreme vehicle.**

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><p><strong>-:Chapter 4:-<strong>

_There was a burning desire in him to leave, but the desire to stay was just as strong. He leaned towards her._

_"Isabella McCarthy."_

He fled. As soon as he saw the hint of her lips beginning to part, he fled.

He sped towards his parked car, a sleek silver Audi. What he wouldn't give to paint it chrome. He flipped up the hood of the car, hanging the keys on a wire. Alice would know where to find them when he fails to appear after school.

Then, he ran. He sprinted over gravel and tarmac onto the wet dirt of the mushy forest that surrounded everything, brushing against moss and bark and barbs of different plants. He flew between towering tree trunks, the rain and dew spraying everywhere. His feet found their way around protruding roots, following an unknown magnetic line back home.

_Home. _He sneered at the taste of the word.

He crashed through the painted green door of the white mansion. The horizontal slats of the house siding contradicted the smooth, post-modern feel of the interior. But he didn't want post-modern. He didn't want white plaster, he wanted bare concrete, beautiful, grey, bare concrete. Concrete fit him. It essentially _was_ him. In his wild state of mind that was neither rage nor craze, he whipped his head around, scanning the rooms as he stalked through the doorways and barged down the halls. As he walked into the large sitting room that was the heart of the house, he noticed for the first time that a black, winged behemoth stood quietly against a corner, cowering before him, shrouded in a protective shadow underneath a thick velvet cover. He cocked an ear, listening for any sign of life in the rest of the house, before he approached the covered beast. Satisfied that he was alone in the house, his finger snagged the cloth, whipping it away from the object. Dust filtered through the air. His ears barely registered the sound of the soft material falling to the ground as his eyes drank in sleek ebony and worn ivory. It was no beast, but a lonely creature that longed for the loving touch of slim fingers that would produce ethereal sounds too beautiful for human ears. It...no, it had an identity. _She_ wanted to cry and to sing and to laugh, and he could make that happen. He stretched his fingers out, himself longing to touch the black and white beauties, keys to eternal...There was the sound of sharp dress shoes stepping into the house. He fled again.

* * *

><p>When he woke up the next morning, he recounted his mixed experiences of the day before. Girls, lady, and another female. Any other male—in Forks—would be thrilled by the first group of girls, but not him. He needed only two females to be satisfied. Oh, and possibly Alice too, but she didn't count.<p>

He mulled over the girls. Not a single beautiful one, though there were several with full features. He thought about hooking in one of them. All of them were so eager to get a little bit of him. _A blonde first_, he mused. _I'll work my way up to brunettes_. He suddenly sat up and looked around him. Unknown _things_ were making him think strange thoughts. He turned his thoughts back to the plethora of blondes at Forks High. It was easy to pick out Lauren Mallory. Nice legs, a big enough bust. Large mouth too. She was very, _very _eager. But he wasn't certain. One face nagged at the back of his mind, pallid skin, deep red lips, and murky brown eyes. He slung on blue ripped jeans and a neon orange shirt. It clashed with his hair, but he didn't notice or care. He slid down the stair banister and landed softly on the balls of his feet. As he started towards the door, a splash of black caught his eye.

There stood that other female. She now had a white placard on her music stand, and the velvet cover was neatly folded and carefully placed on the wide leather bench. The lid was also open. His feet slowly edged him towards the creature, and he sat down, feeling the cold leather through his jeans. The white placard had an alphabet of sorts on it, naming white and black rectangles and pairing letters with odd egg-shaped ink splotches with slashes and lines.

_C_, he breathed, and touched the white rectangle on the creature that corresponded to the one painted on the placard. _D. E. F. G._ He pressed one of the black prisms (_G#, _the placard told him. Why a hash tag was involved in this new magical world was a mystery to him.), and immediately leaped backwards at the discordant noise.

The sound of two footsteps made him whip around. Alice and their adopted mother, Esme, stood in the doorway, both with unreadable expressions on their faces. "_What?"_ he spat. He jerked his head. "Al, let's go."

He stalked out the door, fishing for his car key. A jingle from behind him reminded him that they were still with Alice. He snagged the key out from the air and got into the car, jamming the key into the ignition. He waited impatiently as Alice retrieved their schoolbags from the house before hopping in next to him. He sped off. He knew that Alice couldn't bear the silence, while being too uncertain of his state of mind to break it. He firmly kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the road, until he swerved into the school parking lot. "Get out," he said as calmly as he could. "I'm going somewhere." Then he drove away, not knowing where he was going, only knowing what he was running away from.

As soon as the school was out of sight, he abruptly pulled the car to the side of the road, hiding in the green ferns. He pulled out a homemade cigarette—his last—and lit it, savoring the taste of the nicotine on his tongue. He let the smoke drift and collect in the car, quite at ease, until he suddenly remembered Carlisle's angry voice, both a doctor's and a father's, berating him, telling him that Carlisle would take the car away if he caught a whiff of smoke around his person. He sighed, and rolled the windows down before speeding off onto the road. He willed the whipping wind to draw the smoke out of the car, driving to what he thought was Alaska, before the smell began to clear away and he no longer felt the rush of the drug in his system. As he began to slow down, flashing red and blue lights caught his eye. For the first time in his life, he obediently pulled over.

"Masen, how many times do I have to catch you before you learn?" the voice of Chief Charles Swan pummeled him as he approached the car. Chief Swan sniffed. "And cigarettes? Again? I'm going to have to take you this time. It was out of respect for the Cullens that I haven't before. Get out. We'll send someone to pick up your car later."

He silently allowed the chief to drive him to the police station and lock him in the single holding cell. He slumped into a corner, still silent, and watched the outside of the cell with hooded eyes. He wondered why he had let himself be taken, a phenomenon that had never happened to Edward Masen. Sure, he had been captured before, but not willingly. _Why?_ He heard the bells of the door tinkle. _Why are there fucking bells on the door? This isn't some fucking cookie store._ He glared at the wall, pointedly turning away from the offending sound.

"Chief? Just dropping your kids off. Girl had a panic attack in biology; y'know, blood typing. Brought McCarthy with her because he wouldn't shut up," a voice said. "Yeah, I understand." There was the sound of a soft punch. "You kids want to get home or stay here?" He could feel the scowl on McCarthy's face at being punched and called a kid, and smirked. "Um, we'll go," a quiet, raspy voice said. He snapped his head towards that voice. It was _her_. He glared, darting his eyes between the three figures outside his cell, who were _free_, his eyes lingering on her face. He slammed himself on the cell door, knowing he looked like a psychopath, not caring. He needed to see that she feared him. His eyes flickered as Emmett shifted his bulk in front of her and he hissed. McCarthy stepped away. "Masen! The hell are you doing?" The anger in Chief Swan's voice pushed him away from the cell door, though his glare hardened on her. He watched her flush first white, then red, before she pulled on her brother's sleeve and left the room. McCarthy flexed his arms slightly while glaring back at him before following his kid sister out the door. _Who the hell put her with the chief? _he thought angrily. He longed to punch the walls, but held himself in, knowing it would only earn him extra hours in the tiny cell. After a moment, he sat back down in the corner. He felt a pain in his mind that spread to his body, targeting his neck, his chest, and the tips of his fingers. He longed to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The most accurate representation of Edward Masen right now is Barty Crouch, Jr., that crazy Death Eater in Harry Potter with the wild eyes and the creepy tongue-flicking. **

**Posting this without proofreading. And without planning the next chapter. So if anyone is even reading this, don't hold your breath for the next update.**


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